


The Reaper

by Lyndis



Series: Fate is cruel [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Death, Fate is an entity, Horrible Deaths, Hurt/Comfort, I swear!, M/M, Murder, Neil dies a lot, Reaper!Andrew, Reincarnation, aftg reverse big bang 2021, brief description of burning alive, it's not very graphic but it's sad and horrible, mentions of torture, nothing too graphic, sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyndis/pseuds/Lyndis
Summary: When Andrew first pulled the soul of a so called witch out of their body, he didn't know what he was signing up for.--Part I5 times Neil dies + 1 where he... well...Part IINeil tries to understand and fullfill what Fate wants from him. Preferably without killing someone by accident or omission.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Fate is cruel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198475
Comments: 25
Kudos: 48





	1. Cover (by infinitisimalthings)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chubbytomato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbytomato/gifts).



> This is the beginning of my 'Fate is cruel' series. Which is my reverse big bang project.  
> This work consists of two parts and will probably get extra content in the future (therefore the series)
> 
> The beautiful art pieces you see here and throughout the fic are from [Infinetisimalthings](https://infinitesimalthings.tumblr.com/).  
> Thank you so much for your prompt and the beautiful art you drew for this fic!  
>   
> This piece was beta read by Laura  
> [Lauravg_20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauravg_20/pseuds/Lauravg_20) you are amazing and I am so happy you are helping me! We wouldn't have the beautiful cursing in the beginning of the first chapter without you and this fic would be a mess. I am so glad you came to my help!
> 
> Last but not least, I was not the only one who wrote for this prompt, so check out [redskiesandsailboats' ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redskiesandsailboats/pseuds/redskiesandsailboats) version as well! You will find it here: [TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905248/chapters/73600461)


	2. Cover (by infinitisimalthings)

* * *

**Part I**

* * *

“By God’s bones and Christ’s blood if I was a witch I would burn this village to its grounds to clean this earth of your sickness! You…”

Nigal’s curses were silenced by a backhand that made black dots blurr his vision. The man spat in his face, slapping him again before shoving a cloth in his mouth that tasted like piss and dirt.

“Silence! You speak the words of Satan and we will cure you of your disease. We will cleanse your body and free your soul. Satan will not get this poor man, you will thank us after the flames cast out the foul spirit which possesses you.”

Nigal wasn’t befallen by Satan or anything else. He just had red hair and too blue eyes. He knew how to use herbs because he had been alone for too long to not learn something on the way and he was too far from home, for his hair color to be perceived even remotely normal. He didn’t do shit. He didn’t poison the water and he wasn’t responsible for the cattle to fall ill.

These villagers were stupid and of course it was taken out on him. The stranger. The stranger that saved the life of the major’s daughter just a few weeks ago. 

He thought he could be safe here for a bit. Just to refill his resources and rest. He had been so stupid. 

Instead of thanking him, they had called one of the enforcers who had dragged him into the woods and did things to him he didn’t even want to think about. He couldn’t stand properly, if it weren’t for the ropes that dug into his skin. He was forced to stand on broken feet, desperately trying to free himself from his bonds with his darkly bruised fingers. He knew it was futile, but he had to try. Even if every inch of his body hurt, he had to try, because he didn’t want to suffer through what was coming next.

His heart began to race when he started to smell smoke. When the heat came he thrashed against his restraints. When his feet began to burn his cries drowned out the cheering crowd.

  
  


After what seemed like an eternity he jolted awake after feeling a pull. He could still smell his own burning flesh and the choking smoke, but he didn’t wait to see where he was. As soon as he was sure his body didn’t hurt anymore, he bolted in just any direction.

He didn’t come far. Something smashed into his body, sending him to the floor.

Gasping for air was as futile as it was instinctual and he needed a few seconds to realise why: Nothing hurt and the breath came freely.

His confusion overshadowed his instinct to bolt so for the first time he looked around him.

He saw the crowd still standing by the fire, a horribly distorted body burning slowly to crisps. His body … 

When Nigal looked up to see who or what had smashed him to the ground, there stood a man, looking down at him.

Death was believed to be this huge, scary creature. In all black, his scythe in bony hands, his face without flesh and therefore ever grinning, his eyes disquietingly empty black holes.

It wasn’t that far off, Nigal had to admit. He could see where hearsay came in and changed the expected amount of things to be more dramatic. That didn’t mean that the man standing in front of him wasn’t scary. The human features made it so much worse.

Death stood before him with a bored expression and dead eyes. His skin was so pale it had the color of bone as had his hair. His all black scythe he wore casually propped against his shoulder, spinning an extra knife lazily in his other hand. He wore a black robe and looked down on Nigal.

“You are supposed to be taller.” Nigal’s legs were a bit wobbly when he stood up. Instinctively he anticipated pain, but it never came.

“You are supposed to be traumatized.”

“Yeah, well … ” Nigal brushed non-existent dust off his clothes and looked back at the still cheering crowd. Their voices were drowned out, like he was underwater. The smell of sharp smoke and burning flesh was tuned down, too. He was thankful for both. “Better luck next time.”

The lazy grin that formed on the Grim Reaper’s lips sent chills down his spine. That was the wrong wording. Nigal knew it instantly.

“We will see”, the Reaper answered seemingly bored.

“Ever so mysterious, huh? Does it come with the job or do you just have fun fucking with the dead?”

“Your time is running out, witch. If you don’t want your last words to be musings about who I like to fuck, you should hurry up.”

Nigal stopped in his tracks. Yeah… this was it, wasn’t it? He threw a last glance at the gruesome scene not that far from them. He was dead. It was all over… finally.

“No. I think that’s perfect. Let’s go!”


	3. The pirate

It wasn’t that uncommon, that souls were born again. So when Andrew felt the tug of a soul he had to collect, he wasn’t overly surprised to find the non-witch again. This time he found him - or her to be correct - in the middle of an ocean in the middle of the night. Men and women were scattered around a ship burning down; the inflamed Jolly Roger lighting up the night.

So a pirate this time.

Andrew sat down on a floating piece of wood, not adding any weight to it. He looked at the drifting body, lips blue, eyes closed. Auburn, curly hair bound back for more practicality. Andrew preferred male bodies, even if the lines blurred with souls. The pirate in front of him, even if pale and dead, looked as stunning in a female body as in a male one. Sometimes, not appearances were important but the soul they contained. Andrew had to admit that this soul was one of them. Bright and intense despite outer circumstances.

He let his view drift around shortly. Making clear that nothing was there that shouldn’t be. The scythe - despite the myths - wasn’t meant for souls, but for the things that ate on souls.

But today everything was clear. Just a lot of other Grim Reapers floating around, guiding other souls to the other side.

He pulled her soul out of the body and waited. First the appearance was that of the woman in front of him, shaking like they still could feel the cold of the freezing water. Then the soul laid eyes on him and the form changed. It blurred for a long time, when past and present memories tried to match desperately, but then it settled and the non-witch stood in front of him again. Interesting. Most people preferred their current body as their form because recent memories usually were the stronger ones.

“I’m dead again”, the non-witch stated, looking around and cursing silently. The cold blue eyes sparked with something warm and vulnerable when they caught on the surrounding shipmates. Just for a second, though, then the sentiment was gone and it was the lone wolf again. Andrew smiled to himself, when fate gave him the courtesy of showing him a glimpse of the future.

“Any less stupid last words this time?”

“No thanks. I’m fine”, the witch answered, eyes still darting around, taking in the scene around them. It took a couple moments until they landed on Andrew and sparked with mild interest. “You look different.”

“Would be pretty sad if my wardrobe consisted of only one outfit, no?”

He liked to dress himself to fit the century. At least slightly. He still wore all black, because he liked the aesthetic and it delivered the right message to his souls - less talking, more collecting. But it was all quillings and fancy fabric. He liked the dramatic effect it added.

But Nigal just shrugged instead of giving some kind of retort. “How would I know?”

He waved a hand around him and over himself and Andrew understood. “True”, he gave, because neither a pirate nor a traveler had much space or money for clothes.

“Why are you doing this?” Andrew raised an eyebrow, so Nigal would elaborate, which he didn’t. So Andrew answered: “It’s my job.”

Not satisfied with the answer, Nigal spoke again: “No, I mean why are you talking to me? You’re just here to collect my soul. Why talk to me?”

That was, in fact, kind of Andrew’s job as well. But Nigal wouldn’t understand if he gave him the same answer again. Andrew was silent for a long moment, thinking about what answer he could give the soul in front of him and if he was up to answer him at all. But instead of pushing the matter, Nigal seemed to accept his non-answer and looked around again, before starting to move his limbs.

Andrew looked at him with slight fascination, saw the raw wonder in Nigal’s eyes when he tried out his non-body. He got the gist pretty quickly and started to float around. First he moved his legs in an old habit but even that didn’t last more than a couple of minutes. He floated above the water for a while, then pretending to hop across it. Finally he floated under the surface, around Andrew a few times and when he came up in front of him again, Andrew said: “Life isn’t fair. The least we can do is let you talk for a bit to get everything out of your system that you couldn’t while living.”

He answered only because Nigal hadn’t pushed the matter.

“Okay”, was the only answer he got. No further questions, no ‘That’s nice of you’, nothing. Just ‘Okay’. As if it was that easy.

Nigal didn’t look sad that he was dead again.

“There is no guarantee that you will live again”, Andrew told him, just to see his reaction. It wasn’t normal that a soul didn’t want to cling to the living world. No one was that relaxed after dying.

“I figured”, Nigal answered with a shrug. This couldn’t be real, but Andrew didn’t say anything further.

“I’m ready now.”

Andrew cocked his head slightly to the right. No last words this time either. He just had asked Andrew another question about himself, without talking one bit about his own life, dreams, hopes or other nonsense. Interesting.

“No assumptions of my sex life?”, Andrew mocked and Nigal grinned. 

“Ah, do you even have one? I mean… with all this ethereal being stuff and your exquisite taste in clothes and your… I don’t know. Overall Grim Reaper look?”

It nearly made Andrew smile, instead he huffed once and shook his head: “Come on, then.”

Nigal followed without hesitation. “I meant that!”, he protested. “How does sex work for you? Do you combine your souls or something?”

And Nigal didn’t shut up about this until they were on the other side and his soul just dissipated.

Andrew huffed again and tried not to miss the smooth, low voice. Instead making his way over to Roland, another being that lived on ‘the other side’, but not a Grim Reaper. While he wasted away some time with him, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he would explain this side of existence to the non-witch. 

Maybe… maybe this would be a problem in the future.


	4. The wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: Animal cruelty, dying/dead family

_ Fear. Danger. Run. Run. Run. Don’t look back. Don’t let them find you. Survive, survive, survive. _

The body of a wolf thrashed through the underbrush of a big forest. His grey coat covered in dark red smudges, his mouth covered in blood, too. The wolf wasn’t sure if it was his blood or someone else’s.

The humans had found them. His entire pack was chased away from their hunting grounds by fire the humans had laid. It had been a trap. They first had scattered them, driven them apart with shots of guns and more fires and they just fled and ran right into them. His mother had attacked them, so he could flee and that was all he could think of right now.

_ Don’t stop. Be safe. Live, live, live. _

He only stopped when he saw a human in all black clothing.

“Stop it.”, the man said.

The wolf growled when the stranger came closer. Not a stranger, though, was it?

The wolf’s legs shivered violently now. He had to run, he couldn’t stop now.  _ Run. Run. Run. _

Something in the man’s eyes fixed him in place and finally he collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.

His side burned like it was on fire. He hadn’t felt it before, but now he did. He also felt his aching legs and his bloody claws. Raw from running too long. Hurt from running himself ragged, running from death, running right into his arms. He wouldn’t make it.

The man in front of him sat down and ran a cold hand through his fur. His presence was soothing and the wolf would have relaxed at the touch, but he couldn’t. Instead he whimpered, because everything just hurt.  _ Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. _

_ Why? _ he asked himself.  _ Why did they do it? Because his pack stole two of their sheep? They scared away their other prey, they didn’t have a choice. Why did they kill his family? Was anyone alive? Did anyone survive? _

It hurt. It hurt so bad.

“Sssh”, said the man before him. “I’m sorry. I can’t take away the pain. I am not allowed. But I am here. I won’t go anywhere.”

The eyes of the stranger were cold but open in a strange way. The wolf thought to see hurt in them. Why was this man hurting?

“You are not a monster, young wolf. You are not. They are. They don’t understand that you have a right to feed your family as well. They don’t understand that they are not the only ones being able to feel things. But I do, and I will stay until the pain fades. I promise. Close your eyes, if you want. No one will touch you. You can trust me.”

The stranger stayed for something that felt like hours or even days. The wolf felt his life drifting away from him. The pain got worse but then it got better. Slowly, so painfully slow, he drifted into unconsciousness. The soothing hand and voice of the stranger …  _ no _ … his friend accompanying him every step of the way. He stayed as promised and when the wolf’s life ended and his soul was pulled out of the body, he stayed in the shape of the wolf, only to remember this life for a little while longer. He howled at the darkening sky. Howled in mourning for his family and friends. Howled because life wasn’t fair and he wanted to tell the world. When he went away with the stranger, he heard a chorus of howls accompanying him, filling him a last time with the warmth of his pack, before he went away. 


	5. The cart horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warnings: animal cruelty, (again) burning alive

It was warm. Too warm. But he couldn’t move, too tired from the work on the field. His joints ached so bad every time he tried to get up, that he just sunk back on the ground. He could hear the flames sizzle, could feel the heat rising. But he couldn’t rescue himself.

He wasn’t old for a horse, just old for a working horse. No one would come for him. He heard the humans try to rescue the other animals in the stalls, but not him. He wasn’t worth it. Too old, too damaged to risk getting hurt.

He sniffled and laid back down. His eyes felt heavy after inhaling so much smoke. The panic made him breathe harder and faster but even if the air down there was better, it was futile. Even if everything in him screamed to try and get back up again, even if adrenaline tried to gild the pain, he couldn’t care enough to try again. He was glad it was over. Watching the far fields day by day without being allowed to run had been pure torture. It was okay that it all ended today, it was okay. And with longing in his heart, he closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t awake again.

Andrew pulled the soul out and away from the stables. It wasn’t enough for the animal not to panic, but a soul couldn’t hurt him so he just made sure it wouldn’t run away.

“You are safe”, he told the horse, gripping his mane to hold it in place. “You are free, everything is fine now.”

It needed a few minutes until his words were processed and the animal was clear headed enough again to notice that the fire was gone. He saw the intelligence of a human coming back to the soul which wasn’t lucky enough to have one long and calm life. He wondered why, wondered if fate tried to break this soul and failed again and again.

“Stay in this form for a bit longer”, he offered after the memories were settled once more and stroked a tentative hand across the animal’s snout. It whinnied once in affirmation, not aware that it could speak if it wanted.

“You know I can’t let you go. But I can come with you for a bit. If you let me ride you, we can run for a bit.”

Andrew knew how prison felt. And this was a horse; it wasn’t hard to imagine it wanting to roam the fields and woods. For a brief moment he thought about the wolf who ran on bleeding paws. He thought about the pirate who had sailed and sailed and sailed like she wanted to reach the end of the world and go far beyond it.

The horse huffed, lowered his head in invitation and Andrew swung on its back.

His clothes weren’t exactly made for riding. The frock coat with the choker wasn’t that flexible, as were his pants. But they made a nice couple. He, all in black: Black cylinder, Black coat, black neckpiece, black dress shirt, black slacks and black boots. The horse in a brownish red fur with a nearly white mane and tail.

It pranced for a moment, probably to get used to the non-weight Andrew added to it’s back and the cold but simultaneously warm feeling of his soul touching it’s.

Then, without warning, it shot forward, slamming his hooves into the ground without making a single sound. It huffed silently but happy when they both could feel the wind rushing literally through them. Both their souls began to glow slightly in enjoyment.

They rushed through grass and underbrush and finally they lifted from the ground, discovering a whole new dimension to move in. They got up and up and up, Andrew glad he lost his fear of heights together with his body.

The clouds of black smoke cleared away with the distance, giving way to the nearly full moon and a myriad of shining stars and galaxies. They ran until the morning dawned on the far horizon, then Andrew opened up the gate to the other side and felt the soul disintegrate under him. He sighed, thinking about the boy with reddish hair and glazing blue eyes who wouldn’t stop saying stupid things.

He felt himself hoping to see him again, which was more than selfish, because that would mean he would live another shitty life and die a violent death again. But no one had ever claimed that he wasn’t selfish and it was in the hands of fate if they would meet again.


	6. The punk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit late today, but I decided today around lunch that I had to rewrite 75% of the chapter because it didn't make much sense.  
> Thank you for Laura, my awesome beta who talk to me over the phone for an hour or so to sort this mess out with me. 
> 
> Fun fact: This chapter only exists because of a misunderstanding. Infinitisimalthings and I talked about the looks of characters in the fic and I said 'definitely black nails and maybe a piercing or two' and they perked up at that and thought I was talking about Neil, when I was talking about Andrew XD  
> So, here is a bit of fan service for my beloved artist :3

Andrew arrived in an industrial hall, fires burning in several metal barrels, usually keeping homeless people warm. 

He found the body in the far corner, a burning barrel casting a warm glow over him. He was slumped into himself, a needle still sticking in his arm. Probably only Andrew would ever know that he didn’t take these drugs of his own free will. This whole place was nothing more than a setup. Something the police could look at only to file it off as a junkie overdose. Less work, less of a problem. He had been a problem for the wrong people and hadn’t been able to run far enough.

Andrew couldn’t resist giving him a once-over before he snatched his soul.

He had black hair, his blue eyes were half closed and empty. There was a piercing in his eyebrow and his upper lip. More piercings were in his ears, his Nails painted black, and his clothes all dark colors and chains. Andrew appreciated the sight for a few seconds. This really was the most attractive version by far, not to mention it was totally Andrew’s style.

When he extracted the soul from the body it took some time until the eyes went clear again. The man took a gasping breath and tried to hit someone who wasn’t there anymore. Andrew gave him the time he needed and watched as the memories flooded back once again.

“Oh fuck this!”, Nigal, the non-witch ground out. Shame. The punky style had suited him so much better.

“Welcome to the afterlife… again”, Andrew stated and had to will his soul not to glow in happiness for seeing this idiot again.

Nigal took him in for a moment and then lifted an eyebrow: “That’s some outfit. But I have to say, the last one fitted you better. More dramatic, you know.”

Andrew wore a black trilby with a white band and a tailored black suit with a black shirt and silver pinstripes.

“Not anyone prefers the plain outfit of a traveler of the middle ages. You can choose from over five centuries and you still choose this.” Not that the non-witch wasn’t attractive in these saggy clothes. He probably could wear a sack and would look gorgeous in it.

“I’m a simple man”, Nigal shrugged and Andrew snorted: “Yeah, right.”

Nigal’s form shifted then, and the young punk stood in front of him again. “Better?”

Andrew huffed. “You really are a menace.”

The man’s stance shifted and it seemed like he was posing. His legs seemed longer, the muscles on his thighs firm. He got the most out of the few inches he was taller than him, without towering over him. His weight was shifted to one leg, one arm casually in one pocket, his head slightly cocked to the side. This fucker really had learned some new tricks.

“You like boys, then?”

For a moment, Andrew was taken aback by that blunt question.

“Don’t ask stupid things”, he ground out, not willing to give an inch. It wasn’t effective, though. The punk in front of him didn’t lose any of his playfulness. Instead he just came closer, step for step until Andrew could feel the slight pulsing of his soul. The punk studied him intently, Andrew just standing there, wondering about what was to happen.

A lazy grin formed on the man’s lips when he leaned closer still. For a brief second Andrew thought about something specific to happen, saw his own soul starting to glow slightly in anticipation, but the punk stopped.

“I’m ready now”, he just said and slipped around Andrew only to look back at him, waiting for him to open the pathway.

A look of defiance settled on Nigal’s face, when he finally stepped forward without hesitation. Andrew was kind of impressed. By now the man knew very well what was coming for him, but he didn’t complain. He looked fate straight in the eye and refused to break. Something in Andrew’s chest pulsed. Not his own feelings, though.  _ Ready _ , something stated. Fate was sure now. The way was laid out. The plan was coming to its end. Whatever fate had in stock for this man, it would unfurl soon.


End file.
